Rebuilding Narnia: the First Year
by yoo-hoo luver.wlegs
Summary: After the coronation the Pevensie children awake to find Narnia isn't in such rosy shape as they thought. But when it is near impossible to discern friend & foe & when the four are separated,the Pevensies learn that they must rely on themselves.CH11!
1. Harsh awakenings

**Disclaimer: I don't own a single thing.**

**A/N: I haven't read the books in a LOOOOONG time so details might be a wee bit rusty. **

Peter awoke to the sun streaming in from the large window and to the foot of Lucy in his face. Somehow during the course of the night, the little girl had turned around, letting her head rest in the direction of the foot board. Gently the eldest Pevensie lowered his sister's leg to rest against Edmund's side. Ed snored loudly, lost in some unknown dream. However his right cheek bore a mark from where Lucy had kicked him during the night. Peter sighed and laid back, not entirely sure of his surroundings in the early morning light. It all came flooding back though, when Susan (who was curled up with all the covers in her grip) mumbled, "But I ordered the chicken. Aslan had toad in the hole."

It was two days ago that they fought the White Witch and won, besides. One and a half days ago they arrived at the long abandoned castle Cair Paravel and just yesterday Peter, his brother and sisters were crowned as monarchs of Narnia. Every thing had happened so fast that Peter could have sworn that he was in the professor's home instead of the dusty castle.

Peter had to admit, he half expected to find a pristine castle, clear of cobwebs and with polished silver. The girls were so certain it would have been that way, Peter had to believe it was so, if just for a moment. However, when they arrived, the children had to face the harsh reality that their capitol had been abandoned for quite some time and the coffers and a good bit of the furniture had been ransacked by the White Witch's minions. What precious few remained was covered in ages of dust and cobwebs.

The siblings had to face the truth, they had a broken nation in their hands and it was their task to mend Narnia. Lucy had eloquently put it as 'putting Humpty Dumpty together again'. They brainstormed of what they could do as they helped make the great hall suitable for the coronation with the youngest sibling chirping in every once in a while. At least until they noticed how close the castle was to the shore and all socks and shoes came off as they frolicked in the sand.

"Blimey," Edmund groaned, "I feel like I've been conked by a giant!"

"Try Lucy." Peter replied with a wry smile.

Edmund attempted to sit up but was weighed down by Susan's head on his stomach in lieu of a pillow. "I've counted it yesterday. Four floors over, a hundred rooms easily for every two floors and here we are sleeping in the same room!" he grumped. They had found a large state bed on the third floor and Mrs. Beaver had made a large hay filled mattress to be made until a replacement of goose feather could be made for each king and queen. Unfortunately, the High King's chambers was the only one that was ready for the coronation. And so Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter went to sleep in the chambers, all curled together like what Mr. Tumnus described as a bunch of wee kittens.

The quiet serenity was broken as Mrs. Beaver appeared at the threshold and said gently to her new kings and queens. "My lords, my ladies, there are a few parties wishing to speak to you in the great hall." Edmund assured her they'd be along and satisfied with that, Mrs. Beaver made her exit.

Outside the room, Mr. Tumnus was pacing nervously down the hall. He did not really want to rouse their Majesties. He saw how content they were at the coronation and over heard their kind hearted ideas of how to rebuild Narnia. Unfortunately, pulling the country together would take more work than just building roads and chasing down the fleeing White Witch's supporters. The citizens of Narnia had lived in almost poverty during the witch's reign and the word still had to be spread that she was defeated. People needed fed, towns needed rebuilt, as did ships and the harbor resurrected. Trade needed to trickle in and out for the coffers needed to be refilled and the boarders needed to be protected for when the Tisroc of Tashbaan heard of Narnia's weakened state, surely he would want to take advantage of the situation. He did not want to awaken them so harshly as this, but the great hall was being filled by those who needed aid.

When Mrs. Beaver stepped out, the faun rushed toward her. "I have it on good authority that their Majesties are coming, Master Tumnus." She paused and regarded his worried look. "The sooner they come acquainted with what needs to be done, the better, Master Tumnus." Mrs. Beaver said sternly. "We can't protect them anymore. Narnia will never be rebuilt if we do." She paused and a warm fondness crept into her voice, "You were right about one thing, though; they are curled up together like kittens."

**A/N: please review. More to come. It'll become more exciting soon. **


	2. eyeing that toast

"The simple truth is, your majesties," a dwarf by the name of Clement concluded, "Narnia is-at this very moment- as poor as a church mice." He paused and bowed low to the three talking mice sitting caddy corner to him. "No offense my lords."

"Is there any way we can fix this?" Peter questioned as he buttered a slice of bread. He never imagined breakfast would come with an unexpected helping of news that was just about as hard to swallow as medicine.

"Taxes, my leige," another dwarf stated matter of factly, " What we need is to fill the treasury to rebuild our defenses, harbors and navy. We need to tax the people."

"That's preposterous!" Tumnus broke in.

Lucy nodded in agreement with her friend. "How can we possibly tax the people when they don't have any money themselves?" she wondered with a voice that seemed beyond her years as she set down her goblet of milk.

"Do Narnians have currency?" Susan wondered aloud. She had never seen a coin from anyone since they arrived in Narnia through the wardrobe.

"It depends on who you speak with, your grace." One of the mice squeaked, "Nobody would use the Witch's coppers but the dwarves if they didn't have to."

"It doesn't matter if we use peanuts, we can't tax even a little until we get some imports and good to trade." Peter concluded firmly and all talk around the table ceased when the High King spoke.

"There is, my majesties, a mine near the boarders of Archenland. However we can't afford to hire any workers and it's too risky to use the prisoners we captured from the Witch's army." Clement offered.

"Archenland," Edmund mused, "Are their people friendly or hostile?"

"Archenland had always been an ally to Narnia, sire." Tumnus said leaning into the young king.

"What are you thinking, Ed?" Susan wondered.

"I propose we travel there and strike a bargain with them." Edmund replied taking a sip from his goblet, " Narnian exports at a decent price for a loan to get us on our feet and to keep the Witch's army disbanded indefinitely."

"I'm thinking that's a fine idea if these people have been our allies as was said." Peter agreed with a grin on his face. He was happy they were getting somewhere. "But who will go?"

Several noble creature spoke up however the voice of their loyal centaur general rose above the others. "It would be an honor to serve you and Narnia by going." He said as all the others had quieted down to hear.

"No, we'll need you to help us round up the remains of the Witch's army." Edmund reminded the centaur.

"I'll go," Susan piped up. " After all, we'd have to meet the King of Archenland sometime." The tone in her voice seemed so final that not even Peter could argue with her. The High King sighed, not feeling nearly as hopeless as he felt when the four had entered the Great Hall for breakfast. He finally picked up his knife and spread the butter on his toast.

"Let it be so." He agreed before taking a large bite out of his breakfast.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

**A/N: I just want to hug Lucy! I grew up with the BBC films of Narnia featuring the puppet Aslan. Unfortunately, I found the actress who portrayed Lucy to be a trifle annoying. And though Susan is probally my favorite Pevensie, Georgie Henley was just so ADORABLE as Lucy. So I guess I had Georgie's Lucy in mind when I wrote this. And I love Peter's last line and then a big bite of toast. Just goes to show that even High Kings get hungry! Any way, please review and thanks to those who have.**


	3. splish splash tretchery

After the decision had been made that Susan would go to Archenland, there was a rush to begin travel before the week was out. If Susan had any apprehensions about leaving, she would have had no time to express it. The following days were filled with meetings. Meetings of military intelligence, meetings of the other nobles, meetings of every other shape intent and form the children could think of.

Peter would have been lying if he said he knew what he was doing. London public schools did not hold diplomacy and politics in their curriculum. All Peter had was the few books from the library, the expert opinions of his advisors, and the unfailing support of his sisters and brother.

There was a turn of luck in their situations when Clement suggested they enter the Witch's castle to regain what was stolen from them. What they found in there was amazing. They found they had just enough gold and treasure to hire workers to get the mines started and to give King Lune a suitable offer of friendship.

The other pleasant surprise was the recruits that came flooding in to defend their country and new monarchs. Peter felt relieved now that he could send some troops to guard his boarders, as well as a fort along the road to Archenland with out compromising the safety of Cair Paravel.

The evening before Susan embarked on the journey, the children found themselves with some free time and decided to fill it with time on the beach.

Lucy skipped ahead of them in the sea foam singing in short spurts of breath, "Don't go sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me!"

Peter smiled widely at this. His little sisters had always been fascinating to him. And although Susan became easier to understand as with in the past few months, Peter could not fathom Lucy at times. All four had seen the terrors of war, both at home and in Narnia, and it was apparent in all of them. All of them save Lucy. Perhaps it was her age but what ever it was Lucy never ceased to smile and play.

"Peter, look!" Lucy cried with a smile as she pointed to the horizon. "Dolphins!" The High King paused and looked out to where Lucy pointed, his right hand shielding his eyes. Susan hiked up her skirts and followed them with Edmund close behind. They watched for a short while until a large wave knocked Lucy over. Susan giggled at her sister's shocked expression. With her pride a little hurt she gave her sister and her out stretched hand a sour face. And then promptly splashed her.

It was with great misfortune that Lucy's aim was not fully developed yet and instead of splashing just Susan, Edmund got most of the splash. "I'll show you, I will!" Edmund vowed just as another wave came and knocked him off his own feet.

With in moments, splash war had erupted. The children's voices drifted to the castle and to a small room where three creatures looked out. One, a centaur shook his head ruefully. He turned to his companions, a dwarf and another creature hidden in the shadows.

"This is wrong, they are just yearlings, if that." He protested. His voice held the wisdom of many years, yet the timidness of one lower in the ranks.

"But they'll grow." The dwarf protested in an urgent voice, "Already now they are planning to round up the rest of us and do goodness knows what."

"I agree," the creature in the shadows hissed, "They are still trying to get a foot hold here. Prophesized siblings or not, the Narnians will grow angered if they do not solve the budget crisis soon. We are not killing younglings, Master Centaur, we are merely causing situations to rouse a revolt."

"I have planted several informants in the castle, and one at the fort on the way to Archenland." The dwarf informed the other two gazing out the window before he continues, "Rumor has it that the High King is escorting Queen Susan to there where a guide will take over. The informant will join the party there and sour the diplomacy. And I trust you'll engage King Peter in battle, is that not correct, Master general."

The creature nodded and replied with a clipped tone, "Aye, Peter shall be dead with in the fortnight."

**XXX **

**A/N: thanks to my reviewers!**


	4. quiet comfort

Lucy roamed the halls of Cair Paravel, her large eyes taking in everything from the cracks in the stone to a large tattered tapestry with half a nymph. With each passing moment her exasperation grew. Where_ was_ Edmund?! Susan had left accompanied by Peter, who was responding to an emergency report from the fort along the road to Archenland, Lucy felt lonely, her crown weighing more on her head since Pete and Su had departed.

"Edmund!" the small queen called peeking into a vast room. She did not find Edmund, however what she saw in the chambers took her breath away. The faded wooded floor was lit up by the light that streamed from a stain glass window depicting the Narnian crest and a faded rug of an intricate design. Lucy had never seen anything so simply beautiful in her life. A few days ago, she would have wanted a room filled with gold filigree and silver candle sticks, but the simplicity of the room took her breath away. Lucy found beauty could be found in the simplest of things ever since she met Aslan. She walked deeper into the room and made a slow circle around the room. Her reflection caught her eye in a mirror with a large crack running the length of it and she could see herself amidst the beauty of the room.

"I belong here." Lucy decided, "I'll tell Mrs. Beaver this will be my room." She began to walk out for she decided she really should find Edmund, though the need wasn't as urgent as it was before. She turned to take one last look at the room-her room- and suddenly her crown wasn't weighing down as it was before.

XXX

Lucy finally discovered her brother in the least likely place, the treasury. He was sitting against the wall, his head bent, his brow furrowed and a golden scepter encrusted with sapphires in his hand.

"Where were you?" Lucy wondered sitting down and scooting closer to her brother. When Edmund did not respond, Lucy waved her small hand in front of his face. "Hello? Narnia to Edmund…"

"You mean 'Earth', you goose." Edmund finally said in a tone that was anything but fond.

This did not phase Lucy and she flashed Edmund a smile. She had lost a bottom tooth the week before and her large grin proudly displayed the gap. "We're not _on _earth any more, we're in Narnia."

"Luce, I'm not in the mood," He mumbled.

"Why?"

"Because I bloody am."

"Why?" she persisted.

"I just am."

"Well, that's no excuse." She giggled and began walking around the room. It wasn't very full at all. She knew they needed money but she could never understand why people made a big fuss over it.

Silence enveloped them for a few moments until Edmund threw the scepter in a sparse pile. "I hate this!" He yelled, "We shouldn't be using this money. It's filthy! It's filthy because it's _hers_ and it comes from the same fashion her people took _our_ money."

"They stole it. But now we have it back." Lucy reasoned.

"And what happens if her people or any other country do us in? They'll just take it back and it won't be good for anyone." Edmund replied, still a little riled up. Lucy placed an overly gaudy headdress hoping her silliness would cheer her brother up. He worried her at times. When they discussed the White Witch he never said her name, Edmund referred to Jadis as 'her'.

"First of all, nobody can beat up Peter. And secondly," Lucy replied, she took off the headdress and placed on Edmund's head. "The White Witch can never hurt you now that you're with us and Aslan."

The corners of Edmund's mouth tugged and he gave Lucy a small smile. She was right, Aslan forgave him. Sometimes he was grateful to his little sister. At times she could really bust his buttons but there were times that she was a great comfort. Edmund tousled her hair to show her that and replied, "You aren't getting what I'm saying, though."

"Then elaborate."

"I don't like it because taking this money is only turning the loop."

"What loop?"

"Revenge and war."

Lucy put her head on Edmund's shoulder, "You can't make a loop with those, Ed."

Edmund rolled his eyes. Perhaps she would understand when she was older and understood more of wars. Until then she was his annoying little sister.

"But I think it is a very just thought." Lucy finished with a smile before skipping away leaving Edmund feeling a lot better.

XXXXXX

The fort of Haven Maker was a day's ride from Cair Paravel and one and a half days from the Archenland boarder. When Susan and Peter arrived at the fort they were unpleasantly surprised.

Peter had seen the RAF base before and marveled at the hangers and such. He knew that the Tower of London was a fort once. But he was not prepared for the small five house village and smithy with a wooden wall around the perimeter and a rickety wooden look put at the gate.

The folk of the village were kind enough though and bowed low when Peter and Susan passed. The High King looked at Susan and laughed at her bright red face. She was not used to all the attention they got. Peter couldn't blame her, though. He felt the same way too.

They were shown to their temporary quarters for Susan would spend the night before departing and Peter would spend the fortnight. Susan was looking forward to this moment all day. She held her big brother's opinion very highly and despite her strong words in the Great Hall, Susan was filled with doubt and waited for days to speak with Peter alone. However the High King was swept away by a large group of arguing officers and the only acknowledgement he could give her was a sympathetic look.

Susan was ushered inside by one of her lady's maids and left to sit at a wooden table, since accommodations were sparse at best. With no one but her one guard (who kept his literally eagle eye on the outside street) Susan let her head drop into her hands. Why had she volunteered like that? What made her think she knew anything of diplomacy? And the customs! How could Susan stay with the decorum expected of a queen in a whole different country when she wasn't sure of how to act properly in the Narnian court? Certainly the King and Queen of Archenland would not take kindly to a child queen who liked to walk into court barefoot. Susan let her head slip through the cradle of her hands and rested it on the table. "I'm in over my head." She moaned to herself.

She didn't know how long she rested her head however; a gentle arm gave her shoulder a light shake. "Your grace," Susan's lady's maid began, "You have a visitor."

Susan lifted her head to find herself face to face with a boy around (if not a little older than ) Peter's age. He was short for his age and broad shouldered as well. His hair matched the color of a dusty road and his gray eyes twinkled with a quiet command. They were soothing and trusting. Susan could only speculate he could be a good hand at horses. He flashed her a large grin and introduced himself cheerfully as Waylon. Susan couldn't help but smile back at him; it seemed that meeting her was the happiest experience of his life.

"I understand that you must charm the robes off of the Archenland nobility."

"Yes." Was all Susan could reply.

"Well then," Waylon said with a wink, "You're talking to the right person. Tell me, Queen Susan, tell me what you're unsure of." His words were spoken with an ease to them. Susan found it hard to describe even to herself but it felt like his spoken words sounded as natural as rain on a roof or even the surf on the sea. It was as though Waylon was born to speak such words of comort and reassurance. She looked up at him and noted the earnest look in his eyes. Granddad had always set a store on judging a man's character by his gaze. Although Susan was too shy to ever speak her heart to a perfect stranger, she unburdened the fears that weighed down her heart as if Peter were there himself.

**XXX**

**Not a whole lot of Peter in this chap. I thought I'd work more with Edmund…I've been giving him a hard time. Of course mental anguish is not the happiest state to be in. Well, tell me what you think. Thanks to all who read and reviewed!**


	5. corsets and grapes

Waylon nodded sagely as his queen spoke of all her apprehensions. When she had finished, Waylon stood up and set a dish of grapes on the table. Through out her soliloquy, Waylon had not ceased from smiling. It was a pleasant change from all of the stuffy, grim faced advisors Susan had dealt with.

"Well, Gentle Susan," Waylon replied as he popped a grape in his mouth, " The queen- Rosaleen is her name- is, in all ways, a queen. She acts prim and proper, as all ladies of states should. And she strives to be perfect in everything and anything she does. The queen values intelligence and a well bred horse. She would take you under her wing, Gentle Susan, if you show the promise."

"What do I have to do?" Susan requested as she popped a grape in her mouth, mimicking her companion.

Waylon flopped down and began briskly, "We'll start with addressing the nobility of Archenland." The young queen nodded in agreement. She was eager to learn, eager to do well enough to help out her country. And if there was one thing Susan Pevensie liked the best, best it was memorization.

XXXX

Peter walked down the street of the fort, looking at his surroundings with a critical eye. He tried to take everything in, the population of the fort, the defenses and all possible weaknesses, as Oreius had taught him.

"There," Peter pointed at the look out keep.

"My lord?" an officer by the name of Dashaunn questioned. He was human, as were a few inhabitants of Haven Maker. They lived side by side with the creatures of Narnia. When Peter inquired how the humans managed to live here during the Long Winter, Dashaunn explained that they lived along the boarder of Archenland and Narnia. When the word came by eagle that Jadis was dead, many relocated to Haven Maker.

"That look out post'll crumble like a cracker if we don't do anything to stabilize it. I wouldn't even put the Witch herself in a rickety tower like that, yet alone one of my men. Fix it, if you please." The King elaborated.

"We'll get right on it, my liege." The militia leader, a large feline, promised and appointed two of the other soldiers(who were also attending the King) to the task.

The militia was introduced to Peter simply as 'The Elderly Gentleman'. He was a ragged looking fellow, in Peter's opinion. His long coat of ginger and smokey gray was tangled and nettle-filled. His origins were unknown but it was whispered that he was half leopard and half barn cat. Peter was informed of this by Susan's gossipy "sparrow-in waiting".

Peter had anticipated that the urgency the Elderly Gentleman had mentioned in the message was due to the Witch's supporters several miles East of Haven Maker. It was the old cat's belief-and Peter's too- that they would strike the rickety fort.

The throng of officers and Peter made their way down the street and Peter pointed out that the sparse walls of the fort had to be reinforced. "We don't have the time or the resources to rebuild them. I wish we could have something else between us and the enemy."

"Leave that to me, Sire." An eager young badger chimed in. Peter was certain that her name was Salome. "I can get the moles on a moat right away. There are at least a hundred in the woods. They can build you a moat the likes you've never seen in the course of a few days."

"Well, by George." Peter nodded. He had to admit he always thought a mole's soul purpose in life was to aggravate his grandmother by tunneling under her garden. He never knew moles could have such promise.

"George is here, my liege." Dashaunn spoke up clearly confused. He gestured to a small black and white rabbit who bent his head and greeted Peter. "The moles are outside the fort's walls."

"It's a saying." Peter explained with a grin. He kept forgetting the Narnians were not English. "Get the moat done then, I'm counting on you."

Salome bowed and scampered away.

"My liege," the Elderly Gentleman began with a casual lick to his injured paw, "I sent out a scouting party earlier to see how much time we have before they strike, if they strike. We may need to go to them."

"Do we have enough troops to do so?" Peter wondered.

"My king," The Elderly Gentleman replied with a grim tone, "We don't even have enough troops to start a game of pinochle."

"I don't want to be pessimistic, my liege, but the chances of surviving this is very slim." A short middle-aged man with a shaved head spoke up. Peter did not know his name, but the man had certain sureness about him. Peter had to admit he put all his trust in the man's words.

"I want all who cannot fight to go with my sister to Archenland, for their safety." Peter decided, "I see no way out of this."

"There is one way we can win," Dashaunn began but was cut off by the harsh glare from the Elderly Gentleman's steely eyes.

"If you tell him, Dashaunn, son of Yakiv, I'll gut you me self." The large cat threatened.

Peter was intrigued, though, and had to know what Dashaunn meant so he stood by the young officer's defense. "No, Dashaunn has my protection, tell me what you were going to say."

He bowed low in gratitude and explained, "There is a powerful spirit of the woods, and nobody goes past the wood with out his discretion. If you humbly ask him, he will help you, my king."

Peter nodded, realizing in that moment that the lives of his people were real. They weren't just a statement; they were real flesh and blood. Tumnus had told Peter what the estimated population was on their coronation day, but Peter didn't even realize that each number in the estimate was a real life, a heart beating in a flesh and bone wrapper. When they were sent to the Professor's Peter had realized the worth of his siblings, but the idea of over three thousand Lucy-like lives in his hands scared him. The creatures around him treated him like a great king but…he was only thirteen! He didn't even know how to solve algebra problems! How could they expect him to know what to do?

The Elderly Gentleman had noticed that the King's countenance had changed from confident to that of a scared youth. "My Leige?" he inquired.

"Yes, I'll do just that." Peter answered referring to humbly asking the sprite thing for help. He sounded awkward, even to himself. "If you excuse me, I'm going to check on my royal sister. It has been a long journey."

"You need not excuse yourself, your majesty." Dashaunn pointed out but before he could bow to Peter, the boy had taken off to the building where he and the queen were quartered.

"Hmm." The old cat mused, " The boy is scared out of his bejabbers."

XXXX

"So, I can address every body in the court down to the roast pig. I am familiar with the rounds of the court and jousts, I know everything and more of King Lune and Queen Rosaleen, and I can recite my ABCs." Susan summed up after several hours at work with Waylon, tossing in the last part for humor. She hid her worry behind a smile that matched her companion's easy going grin. The sun had dipped beyond the trees hours ago, and the torches were lit and yet Peter had not returned from his meetings with his generals. "Is there anything else I need to know?" She wondered.

"I think not, you learned this so fast." Waylon admitted shifting his gaze. There was something he was not telling her.

"In truth, Archenland court is a lot like Narnian court and the stories Grandmamma told me of Queen Victoria's reign." Susan persisted , "So there is nothing else I must know?"

The color in Waylon's cheeks began to redden and he gave Susan a sheepish look and after a rummage in the trunk held up a bit of fabric and bone. "If you want to fit in in Archenland, you have to dress like one from there."

"Please tell me that is not a corset, Waylon." Susan frowned.

"Alright, it's a puppy." Though he grinned, his face was still red. He walked over to her and handed her the corset. "If you wish to call your lady's maid, I'll advert my eyes."

"I sent her to her quarters; it was a long ride under the sun. I will not rouse her."

"Understandable, however, if it doesn't fit the village seamstress would have to redo it and that is something we cannot complete with in the morning.

Susan sighed and walked over to the post of the tent, grasping it firmly as she had seen Vivien Leigh do in Gone With the Wind. "Put it around my waist, then."

"My lady?" Waylon asked unsure of what Susan just said, what she just requested of him.

"I can't try it on by myself, Waylon." Susan explained.

"Perhaps you should call your lady's maid."

"Nonsense. She's impossible to wake up once she's snoring and besides, she's a sparrow. And as you said we can't fix this if it doesn't fit."

"Alright," Waylon caved under Susan's practical stare. "Do you how exactly it goes on?"

The queen gave him a sheepish look. "I've seen it before-in the movies- but I never really wore one or put one on anybody else."

Waylon's eyebrow's arched as he asked about what the movies were. He kept forgetting that the kings and queens were not native to Narnia. They just seemed to belong in the country. Susan promised she's tell him later about the movies and took the corset placing it around her waist and chest.

Waylon would be lying if he said Queen Susan was not a beautiful girl. Growing up in Archenland, away from the harsh Narnian winter, Waylon had grown accustomed to women and little girls alike binding their hair up in intricate buns. But Susan kept her hair in a loose ponytail draped over her shoulder. Her face held a freshness that Waylon hoped would air out the staleness of the country. She was just a child to his sixteen years, but Susan was indeed pretty.

After a few moments passed and Susan did not move Waylon couldn't help but laugh. "I may not know much about these things but I think you can't walk around the court like that."

The queen returned his laugh. "I believe you have to pull the laces, you goose."

"Geese are very intelligent creatures, madam, however gossipy they may be." Waylon retorted as he pull the laces gently. "If ever you need to know anything, be it who is such in such's cousin twice removed or more urgent happenings. The geese know it all, and don't lie."

Susan giggled at his playful tone. Waylon seemed like one of those people who could calm a raging tempest with his patience and cheerful disposition. She could feel his nimble fingers tie the laces into a bow. "Tis done." He announced, "How does it fit?"

Susan looked down at the contraption around her waist. It felt a little too comfortable for a corset and she told Waylon so.

"I think you need to pull a little tighter." She explained grasping the post again. "In the movies the girls act like it's squeezing them. Maybe we should try that."

Waylon complied and gave the laces a sharper and asked how it was fairing, not realizing that Peter had walked in.  
"What in the bloody blue blazes?!" Peter half demanded half shouted.

Waylon and Susan spun around to face Peter. Waylon bowed low almost immediately, even before he had his balance. "Um, he was appointed to help me learn the customs." Susan explained, "And Demilie doesn't have thumbs and-"

Peter held up his hand and said simply, "Pause." His sister stopped talking and Waylon looked up mid-bow as Peter issued another command, "Rewind. Waylon, stand up."

"You know him?" Susan questioned, she felt her cheeks burn crimson. Her mother would be boxing her ears for sure were she here.

"Su, I appointed him." Peter laughed. The stress lines were gone from his face and he was the same teasing brother that Susan had known in Finchly. "I know you were a little tweeked over the whole diplomacy idea so I appointed Waylon to aid you. But tell me, Su, is it customary in Archenland to wear your skinnies over your clothes?"

Anger flared in Susan at his teasings. Even Waylon had cracked a grin. She shot Peter a look to kill, launched a grape at him and stormed out neglecting to rip the corset off.

Peter chuckled as she left then crossed the room to the grapes. He may have been king, but for the time being he didn't want to think of the people he was responsible for, even though he knew he should have. All he wanted to be at the moment was an annoying brother. He cast a glace at Waylon and said, "You're traveling with Susan to Archenland? Good luck mate, good luck." He popped a grape into his mouth and then followed his sister. Though he did need to speak with her, he could not pass up the chance to tease her more.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

**a/n: well here it is, a week in the making and I have mixed feelings about it. I think that Susan is a little out of character. I think that Peter's reaction was not appropriate for his personality either. I LOVE the elderly gentleman, though his name is tedious to type all the time and the chap didn't take shape like I anticipated. I dunno, I'm a little apprehensive about this chap. I'd love to know what u all think though. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I'm trying to churn out the chaps as quickly as possible and you all are just so PATIENT!! Thanks to all.**


	6. the improtance of practice

Where the lush green of one of many Cair Paravel's garden met the sand, the clash of metal was heard followed by the sound of Oreius's encouragement. "Well done, my lord." He complimented on Edmund's form. "Now we're going to speed up. Same sequence. Low, side, middle, side, high, low, side, middle-"

Lucy watched from a sand dune, her interest growing thinner with every "low, middle, high" Oreius chanted. She didn't really know why they were doing this when Edmund proved himself capable in the battle of Beruna. And even if he did need to practice, he shouldn't be doing the basics…should he? She turned to Tumnus and inquired.

"Sometimes repetition is the only way to master a task." Tumnus replied sitting next to his little friend. The salt breeze tugged at Lucy's disheveled hair and the bright sun forced the child to squint. She twisted a piece of grass as she thought then finally replied, "Edmund doesn't need practice." Mr. Tumnus laughed and gently untangled, for the umpteenth time, the little flowered barrette that the nymphs made for Lucy. He had never bothered with his hair; much less a girl's before, but his little friend had the ability to loose the barrettes that Mrs. Beaver put in Lucy's hair so carefully. Tumnus would have stayed away from this issue completely if it wasn't for Mrs. Beaver forcing him to promise he would keep the barrette in the young queen's hair. The look in the animal's eyes told the faun she meant business and there were things in this world Tumnus did not wish to provoke. A moody mother beaver was one of those things.

"The respect that a younger sibling has for their older sibling dictates your comment." Tumnus pointed out. Lucy gave him a calculating gaze, one that said she didn't exactly understand but was about to make another inquirment.

"Did you have any brothers or sisters, Mr. Tumnus?" she asked, abandoning the blade of grass for Queen Ann's Lace.

Tumnus paused, Lucy had only made reference once to his family, noticing how his father and he had the same kind face. She didn't understand the concept of the painful past. He prayed that she would not see her family destroyed before her eyes.

"No," he lied, "I don't suppose I did."

"And your mum? What was she like?" Lucy persisted.

"My mother was always in the kitchen. She could grow anything in her garden and she always smelled of peppermint and roses."

Lucy smiled as Tumnus told her this. It always hurt the faun to lie to the little girl but he simply couldn't tell Lucy that his mother sided with the Witch and turned his family over to the witch's secret police. He wanted Lucy to believe in the good of people longer than he did.

"She sounded quite lovely, Mr. Tumnus." Lucy replied softly with a smile. She sighed and discarded the flower. Tumnus could just tell the small queen missed her mother. Being in the world eight years did not pose a lot of opportunities to visit away from home. When he observed the four together, he could tell Queen Susan took the role of the mother and with her in Archenland, Lucy was left with out a mother figure.

Lucy popped up suddenly, all of her exuberance for life back. "Do you want to make a sand castle?" she wondered.

"Nay, I believe I'll sit here, Queen Lucy." Mr. Tumnus winked.

She pouted for but a moment and then skipped away down the beach, singing about an apple tree. Tumnus couldn't help but laugh at the song. The melody was certainly foreign to him but he liked it and sat back letting her voice mingle with Oreius's instructions and the clang of metal.

XXXXXXXX

Peter found Susan, corset and all, under a tall oak in the Green of the fort. She was conversing with a small hen and her seven chicks. Peter had to strain his ears to hear what the hen was saying.

"-I am a wee bit sad that Aslan is away again, but I says to myself-Maribelle, I says, Narnia couldn't be in better hands with you four on the thrones. There's talk among some of the creatures of accompanying to you to Archenland to escape the battle here. But I know I'll be safe with that brother of yours, my lady. He's just so brave to boot, besides. Oh, I could just cluck all day about him."

"You have, Mama." One of the seven chicks piped up.

"Ooh, but he's so handsome!" cheeped another.

One of the more brazen chicks agreed and said with out any shame, "I wouldn't mind having _him_ in _my _coop!"

"Betsy!" Maribelle scolded with a laugh. The hen did not admit it aloud, but she wouldn't mind the same.

"You're pretty, too," Another one said kindly to Susan, hopping up on her lap. "Like a dryad!"

"Like a nymph!" another corrected as she hopped about.

"Like flower!!" the first one added with such enthusiasm she fell off of Susan's lap.

Susan smiled as she scooped up the little baby chick and gave her a little kiss on the head. As she thanked the little chicks, her eyes caught Peter's. There was a look of plotting in her green hued eyes, and Peter knew exactly what his sister was thinking. He returned her gaze with a stern look that said simply, 'Don't you dare.' His sister's reaction was as simple as a sly grin. Yes, she would dare.

"Oh!" Susan gasped as if she just noticed him, "Look who is approaching. It's my royal brother."

"Wee!!!" came the cry of all seven chicks as they ran, their bitty wings stretched out, to Peter.

"Peter, I don't suppose you met Maribelle Peahen and her chicks, have you?" Susan inquired with a mock politeness that only a Brit could pick up and master. She shot him a glance that told him that was what he got for teasing her.

"Can't say that I have," Peter returned in the same mock polite tone.

The little brazen chick hopped up and down in an attempt to get his attention. Peter decided to indulge her and bent down. "And what's your name?" he asked.

If chickens could blush, Peter was certain that this one would be as red as a rose. After a brief moment of silence she whispered her name. It was barely audible so the High King bent down to hear better, begging her pardon.

"BETSY!!" the chick squealed happily and loudly, for that matter. Peter found his right ear rang due to her answer. "It's a pleasure, Betsy," the high king assured the chick, his hand on his inflicted ear.

"And how bout yours?" he inquired of another. When she answered shyly "Mitsy", Peter smiled and gave her a quick pet down her back.

"HE TOUCHED ME!!!!!" she screamed with delight as she ran to her mother in the same fashion she ran to Peter-with her wings stretched. Her sisters ran back to Maribelle in the same fashion, tailing after their sister.

The High King made his way to the tree and sat down next to his sister, casting her a withering gaze. "I'm very pleased to meet all of you," Peter said to the Peahens, "However, I really must speak with my royal sister on private court matters."

"If my kings requests," Maribelle replied with a low bow.

"My brother and I look forward to seeing you again." Susan added as they began to walk away. She gave them a wave and nonchalantly elbowed her brother to do the same.

"It was the highlight of my afternoon." He added as the lot of them, mother and chicks scampered off, his words repeated jubilantly on their beaks. Once they were out of sight and earshot, Peter softly hit his sister upside her head.

"What in the bloody blue blazed was that all about?" he demanded irritably.

Susan smoothed her hair and replied casually, "Since we're heads of state now, I thought I'd give you a crash course on shaking hands and kissing babes."

"You thought no such thing! You wanted to get back at me. That's not very genteel of you, dear sister." He sighed as he reflected on the reactions of the chickens. "They just went ga-ga over me like you do when you see Clark Gable." He mused with a sly grin.

"I do no such thing!" Susan protested blushing to her hairline. "Besides, that's what you get. You deserved every bit of that ringing ear."

Peter sighed, he knew when to admit defeat and when to pick his battles, so to speak. "Truce?" he questioned.

Susan returned his smile and agreed. A comfortable silence fell on them and they sat for a while, enjoying the other's company.

At length, Peter broke the quiet. "I actually followed you out here because I have something I need to speak to you about." His sister nodded and Peter commenced to tell her all about the spirit of the wood that Dashaunn spoke of.

XXXXX

Building a sandcastle was a complex matter. There were certain things that needed to be addressed before sand was broke and the building process began. For example, Lucy had to decide how many towers there'd be. Would there be a moat or seashell banners? And what about mollusk inhabitants?

The process was too overwhelming for the eight year old queen and she tossed a pebble into the surf with a phrase she heard Edmund say, on her lips. "Oh, dash it all!!" Hang the preplanning, as Susan called it. She wasn't here to enforce that. Lucy decided to shed the strict pre-sandcastle rules and make her castle from the top of her head.

Disregarding the fact that she wore a dress of fine yellow satin, Lucy plopped down on the wet sand and began to dig a hole for the moat. She worked quickly and without any regard of what Mrs. Beaver would say when she saw the sand covered monarch. She constructed the moat and one tower with success. Pleased with her work, Lucy picked up a round stone and backed up to decide where it would fit. And almost immediately, she hit something warm and solid behind her.

Lucy had no time to turn around, for two grubby, rough hands spun her to look into the face of a brown bearded dwarf and a large wolverine.

"What do we have here, hmm?" the dwarf growled, his teeth (in which Lucy swore had never been brushed before) showed in a malicious grin. "Get it over with Owen." The wolverine growled. The dwarf was undoubtedly stronger than the young queen so Lucy did the two things a small girl her age could do; she launched the stone she held at the wolverine's head with all her might and screamed bloody murder.

"Shut her up!" the wolverine nervously growled the command. A trickle of blood began to seep through the animal's fur Lucy guessed the rock hit the female wolverine harder than she thought.

Lucy tried to wriggle out of the dwarf's grasp but the more she wriggled, the tighter the dwarf's grip became. She tried to reach the dagger at her side, but found her arms pinned against her sides. At the wolverine's command, the dwarf nodded and unsheathed a large curved knife. The steel came uncomfortably close to the girl's throat and she fell silent.

"For the cause!" The wolverine muttered and launched herself at Lucy. The queen squeezed her eyes shut tight; anticipating the bite but a yelp from the creature filled the air. The rest occurred so fast that Lucy didn't know really how it happened. The dwarf retracted his blade from her throat and pushed her savagely aside in the surf. When Lucy came to her senses, she found Oreius holding the wolverine at sword point. And the dwarf lay dead behind her with Edmund standing over the corpse. He held a blood covered sword in his hands. And with out skipping a beat, Lucy flung her arms around her brother, grateful Oreius stressed the basics.

**XXXXX**

**Well there it is. I'm not pleased with the last scene but what can I do? Oh well, tell me what you think. Thanks for all the reviews and hits. **


	7. the mark of a great ruler

Susan's frown deepened at every word Peter spoke. What her brother was proposing was indeed troubling. Asking a wood spirit for help? And what was next, inviting moss to afternoon tea? Susan cut Peter off after she heard all that she felt she needed to hear.  
"I certainly hope you aren't buying into this caltrap-this gutter rot." She answered harshly, waving her hands for dramatic effect.

"I can't win this battle, Su." Peter sighed feeling once again weighed down by the crown on his head.

"That's what you told Edmund at Beruna and you're still in one piece." Susan countered.

"I had Aslan to help me."

"And he'll help you again, Peter." Susan said quietly in a hushed tone.

"Su, he left. He can't possibly get word in time. Narnia isn't London. We can't wire him."

"And so you propose to ask this _pixie_ for help? What will it do, sprinkle dust on the remains of the witch's army? Call me stark raven mad but I much rather have a lion helping me than a posy covered will-o-the wisp!" Susan debated and angrily stood up. She began to walk away, but Peter caught her arm.

He didn't understand her flare of anger. Surely she knew what the fort's chances were of holding. "I will not have this fort fall and loose a strong hold to the enemy. I'm the High King, dash it all, and it's my duty to protect my people. And if you car-" Peter explained tersely not realizing his voice was rising to match his sister's.

"Don't you even dare accuse me of not caring Peter Alan Pevensie! Not for one moment!" Susan shouted. Neither of them were aware of the fort's inhabitants stopping on the street and peeking out their doors to listen.

"I need all the help I can get." The High King shot back.

"And don't you think Aslan would want to do the same? He didn't go through all the trouble with the White Witch only to back out. He didn't die to break the deep magic so he could go on a bloody holiday."

The two of them at that point began to talk over the other, each shouting their views. And yet in the midst of this, a harsh voice rose above theirs.

"Your Majesties," The Elderly Gentleman interjected, "Let's continue this argument inside, if you please. People are beginning to stare."

Susan turned away and crossed her arms angrily. The cat was right, they were making a scene. The two followed obediently to their quarters. Half way there Susan turned to Peter in an attempt to appeal with him.

"I was there-"

"I don't want another sound out of you two until you're inside." The large cat interrupted, he did not care if he was out of line. The last thing the villagers needed in this time was a display of weakness. Once inside they could wrestle for all he cared.

XXXXX

Lucy was sent to bed with a steaming cup of tea and a little something more. (to help her sleep) Her new room was not by any means ready yet so Lucy sat in the large state bed all four had been occupying as of late. If all four of them seemed small in the huge bed, surely Lucy was miniscule in proportion to the large bed.

She was quite shaken up after the assassination attempt and it took quite a bit of coaxing to get her to loosen her embrace of her brother. Oreius carried her all the way up to the castle with Edmund and Tumnus clucking over her like mother hens. When Mrs. Beaver found out, she was beside herself and joined the "flock" of clucking mother hens. The small girl didn't object to all the fussing. She was just so grateful that Edmund had been there and that Mrs. Beaver wasn't vexed over Lucy's dress.

The dwarf was dead, but the wolverine, a female by the name of Thymele, was in custardy- crustady-_detainment_. Edmund had been in conference ever since he assigned several more guards to the chambers. Apparently there was a question of what to do with Thymele.

Under the toddy's spell, Lucy fell fast asleep with Mr. Tumnus and Mrs. Beaver at either side of the bed. When she woke, Lucy found the room temporarily empty. The young queen snuggled into her covers, knowing that if Susan were there, she'd be there singing the old lullabies that Mum used to sing and Peter would have stood guard himself. Lucy knew that it wasn't Edmund's choice to be in conference and everyone was doing the best they could, but even that consolation didn't make her miss Peter and Su any less.

Snuggling closer to the numerous pillows, she noticed that the smell of cedar wood and the sea-both scents that she had always connected with Peter still lingered on the pillow. Lucy could hear the evening songs of the mermaids and though she was not familiar with the tunes, she could imagine Susan singing about Little Boy Blue. With these reassuring reminders, she swiftly drifted off to sleep.

XXXXX

Edmund paced back and forth in the great hall. He was at a complete loss at what to do. 'Peter would know…' came the wistful thought but it was accompanied by another thought, one that was mocking, one that sounded like _her_ voice in Edmund's ear. 'Peter's not here…' Abruptly the young king stopped pacing. No, he shouldn't think of such things, _she_ was dead and decomposing… and couldn't harm him anymore. All was forgiven by Aslan. He _could_ do this.

"Where are the wolverine's pups now?" The king wondered.

"In another cell, my liege, away from their mother." The captain of the guard, a dappled centaur informed Edmund.

"They're just pups, they didn't harm no one." Mrs. Beaver cut in, "Why punish them for the sin of their mother?"

"How are we to know they weren't part of the plot?" the captain of the guard protested.

"They're _children_! How could they be part of this plot?" Mrs. Beaver snapped, half way to hysterics.

Mr. Beaver put his paw to stay his wife, she looked fit to be tied, and angry to boot. He didn't want her to launch herself at the centaur. "Now, now, Mama." He soothed then asked, "How far away from the scene of the crime were they?"

"The two wolverine pups were found a few feet away from where the dwarf and Thymele tried to kill Queen Lucy. They were playing in the surf," Oreius explained and paused, turning to the captain before he continued, "Oblivious to what was going on."  
"And that is a proper alibi? For all we know, if we let them run around, they could gather information for the enemy. It could all be a clever plot."

"I highly doubt such wee things could be capable of such elaborate schemes." Mr. Beaver pointed out.

"And even if it were so, no mother would involve her little ones in such a scheme." His wife added.

Mr. Tumnus made a snorting sound. "You'd be surprised, of what a mother can expose her children to, Mrs. Beaver." Tumnus piped up, as he glared into the dancing flames in the fireplace. He couldn't get the image of his own mother out of his mind.

"I've been a mother fourteen times, Mr. Tumnus." Mrs. Beaver snapped at him, "I very ruddy well know more about the inner workings of a mother than you do! And if I might say-"

"Hold!" Edmund cried over his advisors who were debating over him. "We'll question the pups. If they know anything, they'll be the easiest to get talking. As for Thymele, I will speak with her as well, should she be willing to talk. And we'll go from there."

Oreius nodded in agreement and spoke the mind of everyone, "Spoken like a true king, my lord."

The group began to make their way down to the dungeons; however, Mr. Beaver stayed his wife for a private chat.

"Mama, you know very well that we had thirteen litters of little ones, right?"

"That's what you think, Beaver." She replied before walking away.

He stopped for a moment to think over what she had said, and then as it hit full force, a grin spread on his face and he ran after his wife. "We'll have to expand our dam then, won't we, Mama?"

"Yes, Beaver, I believe we shall."

XXXXX

Susan sighed and flipped her dark hair over her shoulder; the elation of victory was on her face. After the Elderly Gentleman had brought them into their quarters, she and Peter had gone at it for about an hour with the old cat sitting by the wall, listening intently to every rebuttal and every angered toss up of the monarch's hands. In the end, Peter had conceded. He would not go to the wood spirit for help, he promised. However, Susan could not help but ponder the possibility that Aslan would get word too late. She wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself if that was the case and Peter was ki-no, she would not think of that now. She was correct in her stance, wasn't she?

With Peter off checking the progress of the modifications of the fort, Susan turned to the old cat. He seemed to know his Queen's thoughts and silently padded over to her. "You did the right thing, your Highness." The Elderly Gentleman reassured her, "There is no need to second guess yourself."

"Isn't there? If the fort falls and I loose Peter, how can I go on living knowing that if I hadn't argued he would have been safe?"

"The situation is not as dire as your officers make it out to be. We are small in number, but are strong in will and health. The enemy is tired, and worn. The remnants of the Witch's army are just that-a piece of the whole. They have been on the run from you and your siblings for a few weeks now, they won't have much fight left in them." The old cat soothed. He knew that lying to a monarch was treachery, but he didn't want his queen to dwell on the situation. The enemy was anything but rag tag, and he knew it…he just hoped that Susan didn't. The Elderly Gentleman was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize that Susan was scratching behind his ears until she planted a light kiss on his head.

"Thank you, EG." She said, abbreviating his name.

In reply the old cat purred and gently rubbed his cheek against her hand. She needed the comfort more than he did.

**XXXXXXX**

**Well, here ya'll are, chap…what is it, 7? Cool. I know the general portrayal Susan during the Golden Age is materialistic, but I think that didn't happen until she began to grow up in London. I am very much a believer of the practical, empowered Susan in the Golden Age and that is why I chose her to portray her the way I did. Thanks for all the reviews and hits, I really appreciate them…they keep me going. Things'll heat up next chapter so I can't wait to start a few scenes. Tell me what you think! Thanks!**


	8. too many to count

Edmund descended the stone stairs to Cair Paravel's dungeons. He had dismissed everyone save Oreius who gave the young king a crash course in interrogating. "Look the badger in the eyes and don't give into pity. The pups may not do this but Thymele will certainly. And what ever you do, don't enter the cells. Keep in mind that Thymele tried to kill your sister and will be fit to be tied if she thinks her pups are in any danger." He paused and opened a grimy rotten door to the dungeons. Edmund did not feel safe with the knowledge that a rotted door was all that kept their prisoners from escaping. He made a mental note to have one of the carpenters in the castle fix it. "And my liege?" Oreius added in an attempt to get Edmund's attention, "No matter what happens keep your face emotionless. Wolverines are adept in reading faces."

Edmund nodded and thanked Oreius. It felt life times ago that the wolverine mother and a now dead dwarf tried to kill Lucy rather than a few hours ago. The wolverine was in detainment and was an issue of hot debate among Edmund's advisors. Apparently the wolverine brought her pups with her during the assassination. Whether or not the pups were just there by coincidence or were a part of the plot was what Edmund wanted to find out.

He stepped into the dungeons with the centaur who held a torch in his hand, lighting up the dank stone walled hall way. On the right side rotted out doors represented the cells. The floor was dirt and the air smelt of rot and mildew. Despite this, the dungeons walls were built strongly though that gave Ed little comfort.

They stopped in front of one of the cells that held up to the test of time better than the others had. Inside Edmund and Oreius could hear two small voices talking in scared, hushed tones. "I'm hungry." One whined. "Hush your mouth, Mam will fix this." The other reassured in an annoying tone. Both were too high pitched to determine gender.

"Mam also promised goodies. Something we hadn't eaten in a long time." The other shot back. Oreius's stomach gave a lurch, his noon meal fighting to come up again. That tasty treat they mention was Queen Lucy, he was sure of it. Keeping his emotions in check, the centaur opened the vertical window and revealed two pups scrapping behind rusting criss-crossed bars.

Edmund cleared his throat to get their attention. They were skinny, scrappy creatures. Their wild eyes widened, thinking that they were getting fed. Edmund could not see any emotion on them…not even fear.

"Who're you?" one more demanded than asked.

"I am King Edmund." Ed began but was cut off by one of the pups.

"How can you be king when the great White Witch rules here?"

Oreius shifted his weight. He did not like the pup's brashness, nor did he feel at ease with the way Edmund's face paled at the mention of Jadis's title. He wasn't the only one to notice Ed's reaction. The sharper wolverine pup of the two caught on, too.

"Methinks he did not, brother. Methinks that he's a liar." He said.

"Hold your tongue." Oreius snapped sharply. He cared not if they were King Lune and Queen Rosaleen from Archenland, themselves, nobody accused his kings or queens as liars.

"Can you tell me what brings you here?" Ed asked.

One tilted his head in thought and replied "Our paws."

"Mam promised food." The sharp one explained.

"We's so very hungry."

Edmund put his hand to his chin and thought for a moment. At length, he motioned for Oreius to come aside.

"My liege?" he questioned.

"When ever you get the chance, send down some food to them. They'll talk better when they have full stomachs. I know I always feel better when I've eaten." Oreius assured Edmund it would be done, though the look in his eyes couldn't help but doubt. "Don't worry Oreius. It'll work." Edmund reassured him. He stifled a yawn. "Now, where did we put Thymele?"

"Five cells down, my liege. But I'll take care of this. You look worn, go up to your sister and keep her safe. Perhaps you could do with a bit of food in your stomach."

Edmund nodded, all of the meetings and planning to boost up the castle's security had him too busy for dinner and kept him up later than he had realized. It was almost morning and the sun would be up soon. He had to admit that he was famished and exhausted. How could he argue with the centaur?

Edmund left the scene in the dungeons and made his way back to the big state bed that was intended to be Peter's. He curled next to Lucy's sleeping form and was asleep before he even hit the pillow.

XXXX

The cock had crowed half of an hour ago. Oreius stood by the cell of the wolverine, Thymele. His interrogation had taken two hours since King Edmund had left him in the dungeons. So far the centaur had gotten precious few facts from her. The pups were fed, as the king had ordered and were resting.

Oreius would have been lying he said he was not weary, hungry and at his wit's end. He leaned against the wall and asked for what he said was the final time why she made an attempt on Queen Lucy's life.

Thymele leaned forward in her cell. She was large for a wolverine female, yellow eyes bore through him and her ragged state reminded him that wolverines were not animals to be taken lightly. "If you're colts were hungry, you'd do the same as I, Master Centaur." She growled.

"How many in _her_ service, wolverine?" Oreius demanded.

Thymele gave him a ghastly smile, showing all of her razor incisors. Her reply sent a chill down the centaur's spine. "Too many to count, Master Centaur. We are too many to count."

**I live! But I leave you in an interesting position. Tell me honestly what you think. I think Ed was ooc but this scene was giving me so much trouble, you have no idea. Please tell me if anyone is confused. I'm unsure of how well I explained the situation. Oh well. It works. Thanks to all my reviewers and hit(ers) please review and tell me what you think!**


	9. only one word

Dashaunn hoisted his queen onto her chestnut mare, Roberta. The High King stood by in the early light, with an unreadable expression on his face. The party was all ready to head toward Archenland and with any luck, they would arrive before nightfall. Susan cast a look at her brother, hoping that the encouraging words of the Elderly Gentleman were true. She let out a silent prayer for Peter's safety as he handed her quiver of arrows up.

"I'm sending the Elderly Gentleman with you." Peter told Susan.

"Thank you." The gentle queen replied, trying to hide the fear that was written on her face. She was a shy girl in nature and kept asking herself why she actually volunteered for this.

"Good luck, Su. And…don't slide down any banisters like that time when Mum took you to her bridge club."

Dashaunn cocked an eyebrow wondering how one could have a club devoted to bridges but decided to overlook that. Only the Lion knew what customs they had in Spare Oom. He bowed low and wished Queen Susan a safe journey before she could speak a comeback to Peter.

"No pressures." Peter reassured her with a small grin. His sister nodded before taking her place in the party.

"No fairy." She replied holding out her pointer finger just like Mum always had when stressing a point.

"Yeah." The High King nodded in agreement. "No fairy."

He stood rooted in his spot as he watched his sister ride away with all of the forts inhabitants that could not offer any help in battle. It was just him now. During Beruna he at least had Oreius and Edmund to support him. But now, with out any one he could lean on, King Peter was beginning to feel the weight of his crown and the tenderness of his age. How could he do this? He was just a boy. An average boy from England, no one special, really. Too old to see the world behind glass, yet too young to step from the threshold. And here he was, Peter Alan Pevensie, with an entire fort of soldiers hanging on to his every word. How in all of creation was he going to do this?

Susan and the group of travelers were almost out of sight but something small and yellow caught his eyes. It was Betsy or Mitsy or one of the other little chicks of Maribel's. In the Peahen's eyes he was a star. A rock of power. A sentinel of justice. It was a sight better than being average, was it not? Aye, perhaps he could after all lead this group. Perhaps he could win the battle. Perhaps he could lead his country and keep his family safe. Perhaps he could stop thinking on it and begin acting instead.

Peter turned to Dashaunn, feeling a lot better than what he was before. "How are the improvements going?" The High King wondered.

"I'll be honest, Sire. The moles have made quite an advancement but we're running short on men to strengthen the walls and baileys and to train the greenhorns for battle." Came the answer as the two walked back into the fort.

"Well then," The High King began, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, "Grab me a set of tools and you'll need one less man."

The other man looked taken aback and stammered uncertainly, "Bu-but my lord! Surely we ca-can f-f-find another to-" He was silenced by a hand held up.

"I'm not going to retreat to my tent and plan strategies for the entire day. We need help buffing up the walls of this fort and my hands are just as good as anyone else's. Now how about that set of tools?"

Dashaunn bowed and relented with an 'aye, sire'. He turned to do as his king bided with only one word in his mind.

XXXX

Lucy took a bite of the lemon tart Mrs. Beaver had brought up to her. The little girl was still being made to stay inside and to close quarters to Mr. Tumnus, the Beavers or Edmund.

"Mrs. Beaver," Lucy began, "Why does everybody look mad? Did I do something wrong?"

The beaver paused as she filled her small queen's teacup. She wasn't sure whether or not she should tell the small girl about the debate of Thymele and her pups' punishment. Some called for execution of the mother and pups. Others called for the pups to live as orphans, contained in the dungeons for the remainder of their days. "Heaven no. What makes you think you did something wrong, dear one?"

"Everybody looks so mad. Edmund looked beside himself when he wrote Peter this morning."

"That's because everyone is worried. It has nothing to do with anything you did, Queen Lucy." She handed the child the cup of tea.

"Why? Does it have something to do with the wolverine?" Lucy pried further and the beaver almost dropped her cup. Not a dimwitted child, Lucy picked up Mrs. Beaver's hesitation. "It's alright if you don't really want to tell me. I know its something complicated when I'm not told."

Mrs. Beaver smiled at the child's perceptiveness. It felt wrong to not tell her anything so Mrs. Beaver leaned in close. " Don't worry, love." She answered at length with an affectionate tone. " We've all got you well looked after." She paused, knowing how it was not to be told anything. Beaver always left her in the dark about many affairs. Mrs. Beaver leaned close and whispered as if conspiring. "_I'll_ tell you a secret though. Do you promise to keep it?"

Lucy nodded, her mouth too full with tea to respond. Mrs. Beaver whispered into her queen's ear and the child's expression lit up as she hugged the beaver. It was about time the castle had little beaver babies running around. Surely she would have someone to play with when nobody else could.

XXXX

"Magnificent." Dashaunn commented as he and his fellow, Sabas walked among the greenhorn troops. They were young ones, just like the king, who had yet to put a shaving blade to their smooth cheeks. Sabas looked over to where the High King was helping to fix the watch towers and scratched his bald head. "There is no other word for him other than Magnificent." Dashaunn continued, "He could have stayed in his tent and supervise our progress for the day or even train the greenhorns. But no, there he went and there he's been for well over five hours with not so much as five minutes with his tools down."

"He could have helped train the troops and no lower himself to working with his hands." Sabas replied critically.

"Nay, the High King said to me that though he could wield a sword he leaves instructing to the masters."

"Hm. Can you imagine a king who is modest? Haven't seen that since the first king and queen of this country. Aye, the only word left to describe it: Magnificent." Sabas agreed then shouted some instruction to a wide eyed fox.

Hoof beats were heard down the path and with the lookout's cry of "Open the Gates", a bay colored centaur came galloping in calling for Peter's attention. The two men paused to watch as the High King read the scroll of parchment in his hands. His expression got graver by the moment and with out meaning to not thank the centaur for his efforts, Peter walked away from his work calling for Dashaunn.

"My Leige?" Dashaunn questioned, confusion painted on his face. "Has anything happened?"

"I just got word from my brother." Peter answered quietly. "It seems that the remnants of Jadis' forces tried to kill my littlest sister."

"Queen Lucy?"

"Yes. Edmund says that one of the assassins are being detained and interrogated for information."

"And your sister, Sire?"

The high king smiled. It was obvious that he was protective of his family and worried about the attempt on Queen Lucy's life but there was more that he wasn't telling him "A little shaken up but no worse than wear."

"Then what aren't you telling me my lord?" Dashaunn wondered.

"According to interrogations there is a lot more of the enemy than we suspected." Peter lowered his voice so others could not eavesdrop. "I fear that if a free Narnia is to stay, you will need to tell me about this spirit of the wood."

"Sire?"

"You and I are going to pay him a visit." Peter explained. His voice was strong and firm as he looked on to the woods beyond the fort. A wet wind blew, a tell tale sign that there was going to be rain in the near future. Dashaunn bowed and replied quietly, fear apparent in his voice, "I shall ready the horses for us, sire."

**A/N: yes, I live. Woot woot and all that jaaaaayazz. Hehe. I got to admit that this isn't the best chap I ever wrote. But then again don't I say that to every chap? Lol. The end seems rushed and perhaps it was…sheepish look but it wasn't intentional. I adore the bit about the officers describing Peter. I guess he had to have obtained the title somehow…if you're going by the books that say the Pevensies got their titley things later. Oh well. Chap 11 or bust!!Thanks to all who did review and all who have read. You lot are my heroes!!**


	10. beyond the crown

Peter's brow furrowed as Dashaunn elaborated on the Spirit of the Wood. The sky was darkening with the threat of rain as the two rode slowly into the woods.

"They say he came just after Narnia was established. A dark figure, unlike no nymph or dryad anyone has ever seen and to call him a nymph or dryad would be folly, my lord."

"And his appearance?"

"Folk around here say he is like a wisp of smoke, my liege, for he can appear like a fierce warrior one moment, a ripple the next." Dashaunn paused before they entered the wood. A look of apprehension mixed with terror was on his face. "My King. I must be honest with you. There is a reason that the Elderly Gentleman did not want you to know of this. The Spirit may grant your request but he tacks on a consequence so unthinkable. He does not like to be disturbed, you see. A bloke went in before the long winter to ask for revenge on his neighbor. He asked the Spirit to kill the neighbor's crop…and we got the 100 year winter."

"Oh come now!" Peter replied with a discrete scoff. "Surely you don't mean the witch came because of this farmer's request?" The grave look on his companion's face indicated that his tale was more than folk lore. "I will be specific, then. Don't worry Dashaunn. We need this spirit's help."

"It's…not a matter of being specific, my lord…." Dashaunn bowed his head. It was obvious he was struggling with something. The look on his face held every bit of remorse for bringing up this alternative. "My father ventured over the boarders one night. The reason of his visit was and still is too painful to tell but I do know he was specific to the last kernel of corn…Point is, my liege, there is no getting around the Spirit's payment. You can go back now and we will die for glory or we can go forward."

"If I let all that Aslan has done to help us get the throne go down the drain, I will never forgive myself. How do I find him?" When he got no answer Peter sighed and persisted with a tone of authority, "The fate of your fellows and the footstool to Narnia is at stake. Tell me."

"Enter the woods, and follow the stream until you reach a sharp turn in the water's course. You will find yourself across from the source of the stream: a waterfall coming from the very rocks. There you will find the Spirit. Don't look him in the face and what ever you do, don't pass into the stream. Though it seems no more than a large one, it is as deep as any river. The spirit keeps his Ruskali there and they will not care if you're their king or not."

"Ruskali?"

"Aye. Some say they are the once human payments the Spirit took to break even. Others say they are the nymph like spirits of drowned maidens from ages past. Either way, my lord, theirs is an acquaintance you do not wish to make."

"Thank you, for all of your help." Peter said earnestly. Beneath the darkening sky Dashaunn noticed for the first time the tenderness of his king's age. Surely no older than his brother's son and yet here he was willing to risk his own skin for a shotty garrison of lowly farmers.

At length Dashaunn spoke up in a fatherly tone, "Who says you're to venture alone?"

Peter looked astonished at the content and abruptness of the question. Dashaunn seemed like the type of man who would look out for his own skin and shy away from willingly putting himself in danger. Even in the graying afternoon the militia man's brown eyes were so wide it seemed they would pop out at the thought of what they were going to do and ask. "I thought this was as far as you dare go?" Peter answered, dismounting his unicorn. The wood was no place for a quadruped, that was for certain and at the time haste was the choice word of the hour.

"Aye, I did say that my lord." Dashaunn answered mimicking his king's action, "However what kind of adult and Narnian would I be if I let my new king-who happens to have seen less than sixteen winters- enter danger by himself?"

Rain began to fall in large drops. Hitting the leaves with a whisper and the two men's greaves with sharp kerplunks. Peter only replied with a grin that spoke more gratitude than he could ever say. Ever since he, Ed, Su and Lucy had arrived in Narnia they were handed adult responsibilities and were expected to act so. It was refreshing to have a person treat him his age for once. Very refreshing indeed. With out speaking another word the two walked into the wood to see a spirit about a village.

XXXX

The heavy rain had made any movement toward Archenland impossible until it let up. As soon as the first drop fell square on Maribelle Peahen's beak, the primary concern among the majority of the party was to keep the queen dry. And so, Susan found herself standing underneath a canopy of tree branches with a makeshift umbrella comprised of wooden poles and Waylon's cloak…for good measure.

The Elderly Gentleman had sent several of those sturdier than the others to secure the "camp's" perimeter. Heaving a sigh Susan played with a strand of dark hair, and looked ruefully out at the rain. Back in Finchley, she and Lucy would get their rain slickers on and go play in the rain. Peter had once joined them before the war and even Edmund would come out and puddle jump before he came to the conclusion that he had "better things to do". Of course puddle jumping would have been impossible for a girl trying to impress a stately queen.

"The rain will let up soon, my lady." Waylon assured her in his usual effortless manner. Despite his tone and intention, Susan couldn't help but jump as she was launched from her thoughts.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure it will." She answered haltingly before casting a look of longing out at the rain.

"This area is prone to heavy rain." Waylon explained offering his queen a flask of water, "That is why the wood here is so lush and why Haven Maker is such a vital fort. One can launch an entire defense from the wood and not be seen; the trees grow so close together. However, we did pass the Archenland boarder two miles or so back. The castle is not far from here. I am sorry that this is the first impression of King Lune's land you got. Its usually quite pleasant."

Susan took as ladylike gulp as she could from the flask and gestured to the cloak umbrella. "This wasn't necessary." She told him.

"Never question shelter when it comes, my lady." Waylon reminded her easily as he nonchalantly leaned against an obliging tree. He was not under the makeshift umbrella and several large raindrops found their way onto the shoulder of his white tunic.

"Come stand beneath this." Susan suggested, gesturing to the makeshift umbrella. She did not want her friend and advisor to catch his death in wet clothes.

"Nay. It is for you and you alone, my queen." Waylon answered, rejecting the offer brightly. "You're the reason I was hired to be your guide. You and your message to King Lune. It would not do to humbly ask for money with a stuffed up nose." He paused and a Cheshire Cat grin embellished his features and he continued in a matter of fact tone. "In fact, Prince Boreland the Congested of Archenland went to Calmoren to negotiate peace and ended returning with bushels and bushels of cheese, causing his father to heavily reconsider Boreland's claim to the throne. In the end King Lune's great grandfather became king."

Susan gave an amused smile in return and stepped out from under the makeshift umbrella to stand beside Waylon. "Let the little ones stand underneath it." She explained to him flatly once she saw his brilliant rendition of a codfish. "It makes no sense for me to stay dry where there are others who will be worse off with a cold than me."

Waylon gaped at her and her logic for a moment before she walked off to speak to an elderly rabbit. He heard that the four were different than any other monarch generations have seen. At first he pondered why, even when he had first met Susan and Peter at the fort and he began to realize the validity of those claims the longer he stayed in the Queen's presence. "You're going to return to Cair Paravel with cheese." He reminded Susan as if it were a last attempt to get her to return under the cloak. She paused as the elderly rabbit and the Peahen chicks made their way there. Her green eyes held a keen humor to them as she crossed her arms over her chest and retorted haughtily, "Then Narnia will be the lead exporter of cheese."

Susan walked over to the tree and leaned against it in the same manner as Waylon had before. The steady sound of rain on the leaves above increased as a rush of water fell from where they stood, thoroughly wet. In a vain attempt to get himself dry, Waylon shook the excess water off of his tunic's sleeve as the Elderly Gentleman walked passed them, looking very much like a drowned rat. He turned to address their staring and explained shortly, "I hate rain."

The Queen's hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. Her whole body shook with the effort of suppressing the laugh until she failed miserably and let out a snort of laughter. The urgent cry for the Elderly Gentleman silenced the young queen, however, as Demilie, Susan's sparrow-in-waiting flew to rest daintily on the old cat. The gossipy sparrow had agreed to look out after much fuss. She was a high falooting little thing that did not take kindly to anything improper or dirtying. Demilie's report though, sent chills up Susan's spine. Someone was approaching…and approaching with all haste to the makeshift camp.

XXXXX

Upon examining the boy, Oreius decided that King Edmund had never looked so worn at the seems before in his young life. It was obvious by the dark circles under his eyes and the way he went through breakfast with a glazed look on his face that he had not gotten much sleep within the past night. After the attempt on his little sister's life, Edmund had found himself trying to sort things out…which to Edmund's opinion, was Peter's area o expertise.

He had sent his older brother a note detailing the situation before breakfast that morning and had still not received an answer by afternoon tea. Lucy was napping under the watch of some of the best guards in the run down castle. And Oreius had found himself standing watch along with the dappled captain of the guard as Edmund stared into his cup of tea as if it held all the answers he needed.

With a glance at his fellow centaur, Oreius dismissed the other with out saying a word. The captain of the guard exited quietly and surprisingly, with out objection. He, Oreius, Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers had explained Edmund his options on how to deal with the wolverine assassin and her pups. It was all a matter of discerning whether or not she was whole heartedly with the witch's remaining forces or looking to keep her shriveled pups alive. Although he had personally heard Thymele confess the amount of forces on the slain witch's side, the decision was Edmund's and Edmund's alone.

"Sire?" Oreius began with a little concern in his voice. The child had been silent for over an hour, staring into the beverage Mrs. Beaver had insisted on giving him. Edmund looked up with a start, seemingly broken out of his self-inflicting trance.

"You are troubled." The centaur continued with an even face.

Edmund sighed and threw up his arms as if saying he was at a loss of what to do. "What am I supposed to do, Oreius." He asked genuinely. His age shone through the crown on his head. He was not a ruler asking council tin which he would consider Oreius's answer. He was a boy who, over the events of the past night, found himself in a sticky spot. Edmund looked Oreius in the eyes and the centaur realized Edmund wanted the centaur to point him in the right direction. Of course, Oreius was never good with children. "You must do what is just, my lord." He replied honestly.

"But…the badger almost killed my sister." Edmund pointed out, resuming his vigil on the teacup. "Clement and the others demand her blood for her offense…and I want to execute her for what she attempted to do to my sister."

"It is a reasonable solution, my liege."

"But she did it all to feed her pups…"

Oreius shook his head. There were plenty of mothers with starving children and they did not attempt to assassinate their monarchy and he bluntly told Edmund this. Oreius paused for a moment, realizing he was being too harsh. The lad was asking his coucil as an adult, not an advisor. "Why does that bother you, my liege?" Oreius asked, curbing his usual clipped tone and adopting a softer one, the voice he used to speak with his own colt before the hundred year winter took the foal.

King Edmund looked up at Oreius for a moment and taking a deep breath. Edmund was never really one to speak of what transpired between him and Aslan after he betrayed his siblings but never the less the encounter dictated the way he saw situations since. As he spoke, Edmund seemed to show a wisdom beyond his years. "Because when I returned...and met Aslan-I betrayed my brother and sisters for-I should have- in all rights and reasons, that type of betrayal means death….and I figured…perhaps Thymele deserves that kind of mercy too…even if she did try to kill Lu, she did it out of desperation…I just feel that Aslan would not be so quick to condemn her…and neither should I." He picked up one of the ginger snaps Mrs. Beaver had set out for him and dunked it into his tea. "Am I wrong to think that Oreius?" he questioned, his mouth full o cookie.

"No, my king." Orieus replied walking to the far end of the room. He paused and placed a fatherly hand on Edmund's shoulder before making his way to the window. Looking out into the ocean, he continued. "Its very noble of you…a very just act of mercy."

**A/n: well, I live! I wanted to do one more scene but I feel that this is a good place to stop. Yes, I know its getting a little boring dealing with the character's psych and stuff but I promise the next chapter we will find who orchestrated the assassination. Stay tuned and thanks should go out to my reviewers especially Electrum for that reply. All my reviewers and hitters rock my world. Thanks.**


	11. in too deep

With in a split second, instinct took over in Susan's mind as she ran to her saddle bag, retrieved her quiver and bow and then primed it in one swift movement. She stood, ready to unleash an arrow at anyone who dared raise a blade to her people and herself. Mentally she scolded herself for letting Father Christmas' gifts leave her side.

There was the sound of swords unsheathing from those with thumbs and the carnivorous animals in the party bared their teeth as the sound of hooves approaching grew nearer. With in a few moments, a party of ten men dressed in quilted armor and cloaks carrying some crest on a metal clasp entered sight. Still on her guard, Susan kept her bow raised. The rare sensation of adrenaline pumped through her and she was aware of only herself and those who threatened her.

A gilded silver litter came into view, strapped to four horses rather than men. It was a closed contraption, privacy granted by curtains made of the most beautiful and delicate blue fabric Susan ever saw. The bow remained primed to fire as a ghostly pale and delicate hand drew back the curtain. A beautiful woman, finely clothed looked down at Susan. The woman's auburn hair was coiled tightly in a chignon at the nape of her neck. Her brown eyes looked haughtily on the party and a thin eyebrow lifted beyond her hairline. This woman had a noble brow and high cheek bones and absolutely no motherly aura about her.

She stayed in her place as she saw the group of weather worn (and seemingly hostile) Narnians. With the simple word to call on her guards, all ten bows were aimed at The Narnians. "Your Grace!" a voice called urgently referring to the woman in the litter, "I beg you to reconcider."

A look of recognition spread across her face, though she did not smile. "What brings you into my land, Waylon son of Ezekiel?" She wondered more to herself than the one who addressed her. "My royal husband sanctioned you to guide the human refugees back to Narnia. Not bring in a band of rag tag immigrants."

At the woman's word's Susan's head reeled. Did she refer to her royal husband? Her royal husband as in the King? But then that made her…suddenly Susan felt silly standing in the damp with her bow raised. What a first impression to make on the Queen of Archenland! Surely she would fail in her mission and Narnia would be ripe for rebellion or invasion. Waylon continued to explain, much to the young Queen of Narnia's unease. Why did the lad have to talk so much?

"…May I present Queen Susan Muriee Pevensie of Narnia?" Waylon continued. The sound of her name seemed so common compared to everything. The beauty of Rosaleen, the grandeur of her carriage, even her ladies maids made Susan feel backwoods. Waylon coughed a painfully loud reminder of what she was to do when she met with Archenland's queen as was custom. And certainly holding her at bow point while the fashionable gown was muddied and the once pristine hair that had since gone limp and out of the coil, was certainly _not_ the right first impression. Realizing her place as was the custom of Archenland, Susan requivered her arrow and gave a flourished courtesy to the queen with the awkward mumble of "Your Grace."

Rosaleen waved her guards away and examined the so called eldest Queen of Narnia. She was but a child. A child left to run about wild. The girl's dress was wet and rumpled, her face streaked with sweat and mud. The wind had tangled her damp locks around her dainty golden crown. 'Surely this is a joke', Rosaleen thought to herself, raising an eyebrow.

From behind the makeshift umbrella one of the Peahen chicks whispered, a little too loudly, "I think we blew a good first impression, Mama."

XXXX

As Peter and Dashaunn drew nearer to the sharp bend in the stream, the air grew progressively heavier and fouler. Every fiber in Peter's being kept screaming for him to turn back. No sunlight dared reach the ground of this part of the wood. The trees were too thick to even let in a fraction of light. The trees branches reached out to touch each other, reminding the High King of a game he and his classmates used to play where they made a knot with each other's arms and then tried to untangle themselves as a team.

Dashaunn insisted on leading the way and was a few feet ahead of Peter when the man stopped dead in his tracks and with a stricken face, was gazing in a mixture of shock and horror to his right. Peter's sword went out with a hiss, ready to meet any foe but was stayed by Dashaunn's shaking hand. "Resheath your sword, my king. It was naught but my mind playing tricks on me." Peter did so and the two continued walking.

"What did you think you saw, Dashaunn?" the High King wondered but was answered by a shake of the head.

" 'Twas nothing, my lord." Dashaunn replied a little shortly, "For a moment, I thought I saw a pair of golden eyes glower at me from the brush. But as I said, 'twas naught but my mind. Never matter, the spirit dwells yonder." The man pointed to a small grove of willow trees as old as Cair Paravel itself. Clear water sprung out in torrents from the black rocks on the far side of a small stream. "Do you recall what I told you, my lord?" Dashaunn wondered in a tense whisper as if the rocks would over hear.

"I'm to be over specific, not cross the water and not look into his eyes."

"Yes. No matter what, don't look him in the eye. Folk around these part say that when one makes eye contact with the Spirit of the Wood, one will see the inner workings of his soul. And that could kill you."

Peter nodded in grim acknowledgement. His every fiber was shouting for him to turn back tenfold louder than it was before. Convincing himself that it was for the betterment of his country and to ensure his family's safety, he pressed on.

The grove was empty of any person of animal and after standing there for a moment, Peter looked over at Dashaunn. "Do you have any idea of how we are to summon this spi-" Peter's words were never spoken as a great wind filled the grove, expelling dirt in the air. When it subsided, a fearsome being stood on the other side of the stream.

It was a shapeless black from what Peter could see (he did not look beyond the knees) and though he dared not look up, the High King could feel intense eyes on him. He could not recall a fear more permeating than the fear that radiated from the Spirit of the Wood like a sick warped sun radiating heat. The horrors of Hitler's bombing of London seemed like a childish nightmare, long past and it took all of Peter's strength to not turn and run. Dashaunn didn't seem to be fairing any better. His brown eyes were locked firmly on the ground and his face was completely ashen.

"State thy business, Sons of Adam." The Spirit demanded in a raspy and stale voice. The fearsome noise that deprived the young king of any hope for life. He could see the candle of his short existence wane when ever the spirit addressed him. Peter felt that he had nothing to look forward to but misery, torture and death.

Closing his eyes to drive away the blind fear that had taken hold in his heart, Narnia's High King swore he heard the faint roar of a lion. Whether it came from his memory or if it was real, Peter could not discern. But he felt the warmth of hope tingle in core as it swiftly traveled to his limbs. What had he to fear? By the lion, he was the High King after all. Peter lifted his head and fixed his gaze on a willow beyond the black shape. "I am High King Peter Pevensie of Narnia. Your country requires your aid."

The creature let out a withering his and beside Peter, Dashaunn grew paler by the moment. "You have humor boy to think that a mere child can demand such a notion." It hissed in anger. "Do you not fear me, Son of Adam?"

The answer came quietly but with a surprising amount of strength. "No."

"And why not?" It questioned, clearly angered at the lack of intimidation. It swept across the stream and Peter swore he saw a glimmer of a sinewy arm flail slowly from the unknown depths of the deceiving stream. Dashaunn gave a slight whimper as he stumbled to back up against a tree, his eyes never daring to leave their vigil on the ground. "Answer me, Son of Adam." It threatened, "You try my patience."

Raising to his full height, Narnia' High King answered evenly, "Because Aslan own the land on either side of this stream."

"Aslan!" It scoffed indignantly, returning to hover above the stream. The sinewy arm before was not imagination as the full bodies of beautiful young women floated from the unknown depths. Their bodies were like corpses as the water moved their hair much like seaweed. Suddenly the bodies writhed in painful motion as if in excruciating pain. "Aslan has long since exiled me to this forest, letting me ruefully keep those who foolishly seek me out to intrude in my solitude. I leave Aslan to his and mine he leaves me. So has it been since I came to this land. Tell me, High King, why seek me out when you are so clearly with Aslan?"

"I need your aid to ensure victory on my part." Peter returned and continued explaining in detail the entire situation and what he required of the Spirit of the Wood.

After he had said his piece, the spirit was silent in thought. At length it answered. "Though not by my doing, the remnants of the White Witch's army will not attack for another fortnight. They are scattered and need to regroup. This shall give you enough time to bolster your fortress. It will mean nothing, however, with out my help. The come in masses that you could not imagine remains in your kingdom. Do I have your word that you will allow me to collect my due with out neither question nor deadline?"

"Yes."

At this, a portion of the Spirit's black mass turned into a human hand and extended it to seal the agreement. "Then let it be done and set in motion." Peter paused momentarily, briefly wondering what the payment would be. But the initial need and the reality of defeat spoke louder than any apprehension and so the High King reached out and shook the corpse cold hand of flesh.

XXXX

The still of the morning to come hung like a drape in the air as Clement snuck as fast as his dwarf feet could carry him to the tower. He opened the old wooden door with a small grunt and with a like one, closed it behind him.

"King Edmund has pardoned the wolverine with the condition that she stays confined with her pups for the remainder of the resistance." Clement announced upon entering.

His companion, the dappled captain of the guard gave a short snort. "Leave her. Her loyalty lies with her stomach. I will personally make sure that she does not reveal anything to that fool Oreius. Concentrate on getting control of the mines as swift as possible."

"The boy is one minded." Clement returned hardly, "Concerned with the safety of his sister at the moment and nothing else."

The captain of the guard reached into a concealed hole in the stone and pressed a small metal vial in the trembling dwarf's hand before suggesting that he remedies that, a cold grin embellishing his harsh features.

**A/n: chap 11!!! Woo. Poor ending to the chap I know but I made a promise to reveal the perpetrators of Lucy's near assassination. Well, please review and thank you for those who did. **


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